The fireworks explode in the sky, the sound muffled by the glass between me and the rest of the world.
The phone goes straight to voicemail.
I try again. Same result.
Again. Nothing.
But I knew it. Yet the hope that Dad’s death is a mistake is still there. The fireworks, the party—the world can’t be that happy when your loved ones die.
I do the most illogical thing—send Dad a message.
Me: Dad, call me back.
Mom once said,“You often live through the deepest feelings while the world seems at its shallowest.”
This is an awful thought, but I’m glad she didn’t see the Change. She was too beautiful and kind to witness what the world turned into. How vicious we humans have grown. How those of us who have money spend it on the wrong things. How those who have nothing are willing to use violence to get what they need. How much it hurts to lose the ones you love, however you define love.
I gulp the drink, then walk to the bar and make another one.
It’s not Dad but Mom who is on my mind now, her smile that I remember in every detail because it comes from the few pictures I keep on me all the time.
So I walk to the drawer across from the bar, press my fingertip to the scanner, and pick up the familiar pictures.
Mom is always so happy on the pictures—that’s how I remember her, her smile.
So is little Adam.
Even Dad. That was the happiest I’ve ever seen him. When Mom died, something in him died too. An invisible tie between us snapped, and he was just a grownup man guiding an estranged young man through life. Without unnecessary emotions. Without care. Like it was an obligation.
That’s what probably made me so messed up in the head after the Change. Droga wasn’t there either. Technically, I didn’t have a single person I could be close with. I drove my friends away. Stopped giving a shit.
So much for a brilliant brain and money.
And that’s when Mom’s words come to mind.
You are so talented, Archie. So brave. You take my breath away.
Dad never said those things to me.
One day, you’ll take on the world, and it will watch in awe as you show what you are capable of.
I take another sip, remembering Mom’s gentle touch ruffling my hair that I was always so embarrassed about. What teen is not embarrassed by their parents’ affection? I would’ve given the world for it now—this fucked up world that she wanted me to wow.
Mom, it’s not worth a fraction of your smile.
“Corlo, play ‘Vienna’ by Billy Joel on repeat,” I say.
Mom knew the lyrics by heart. Often sang along at the top of her voice in her car to me and Adam. Adam used to giggle.
“Archer! It’s about you, sweetie.” She laughs loudly and sings along.
I used to roll my eyes. Always rolled my eyes at everything.
Tears burn my eyes, blurring the pictures of the family that doesn’t exist anymore.
My chest tightens.
And here come the real fucking predators—guilt and regret that clasp my chest in an iron grip. They always come back, no matter how much time passes.